Purple Prose
by ShadowPhoenix101
Summary: Reality isn't always what it seems to be.


_Hello, everyone! This is a short one-shot that I came up with while rewriting another one-shot. I'd shown the one-shot in question (which was also Skylanders-related) to a friend of mine, and one of the things they pointed out was that it had too much purple prose. While coming up with ideas for a rewrite, I came up with an idea for another one-shot._

_We can see how that turned out._

_A little heads-up: this story _does_ refer to the reader in a way, although it's designed to be more of a wide address (the whole point is for it to be a "haha look at me posting this and you can't do anything about it because to you it's just a fanfic" sort of thing) rather than a "you go to this place and everything goes horribly wrong" sort of thing. I was worried that it'd fall under the definition of an "interactive entry," although I've been told that since I'm not having any of you pick what happens next, it doesn't fall under that, so that's good. That's good. Yes._

_Anyway..._

* * *

I am pleased to make your indirect acquaintance.

Most certainly, you have arrived here to observe what you assume to be a mere amateur self-interpretation story, one among many continually being pumped out over the decades. It is with this knowledge that I can reveal my plans to you in the confidence that you will not act to interfere in their matters, seeing as you view this document as a mere piece of fiction; merely something to be consumed mentally, then discarded, as the hive-minded swarms of society drift off to the next written atrocity.

I am what they call "Dark Spyro"; personally, I would prefer a more…_sophisticated_ title, but in retrospect, the simplicity of it makes it all the more convincing.

I pride myself on being capable of mimicking various denizens of this universe after long enough observation. In this respect, I suppose I could be called a changeling, although I scoff at the thought at being compared to those wretched lowlifes.

I have enough knowledge of your shallow-minded society to know that, based on my vocabulary and diction, you will assume that I have a British accent because of national stereotyping and because of my antagonistic nature. You will be disappointed, I am certain, to learn that I in fact do _not_ have such an accent; I merely mimic that of my host. An irritating and whiny voice, yes, but a voice nonetheless.

The entities here boast such an ego that I find it both mildly amusing and highly convenient. They believed their spells could bestow upon my host control of my essence; they would be aghast and in denial to learn that they in fact have grossly overestimated their own capabilities. At this very moment, I am sitting on a ledge, overlooking the gravel-reminiscent floating isles, copying the arrogant, moronic, and boastful qualities of the possessed. Pleasantly, everyone has been fooled thus far.

My source essence remains incapable of breaching the barrier into this world that has been put up by the wholly incompetent, self-titled "heroes" of this universe. I have formulated a plan to infiltrate their ranks and render the device defective. Seeing as you both have no entry to this world and believe my tale to be mere fiction, I can rest comfortably knowing that the ignorant masses are useless to stop me.

Recently, I have come across a most convenient event. The equally-moronic rival of the entities was confronted by a squadron of the very incompetents; the resulting skirmish unleashed an experimental energy source which just so happened to be a sprout of my source essence. This added a few accomplices to my ranks, and although I would personally prefer to have a dozen or so, any additional minions will make things far easier compared to how things stood originally.

Evidently I have neglected to mention a crucial fact: I regain control of my host at all times. Common misconceptions may lead you to believe that I only possess control of the brute while they are under willing activation of their "form"; I assure you that this is far from the case. The possession of two or three forms only serves as a façade to dissuade paranoid suspicions.

Although I have been sent merely to deactivate their shield, I have reasonable confidence that I may be able to polarize its programming, thus blanketing the universe and netherworlds beyond with our source essence instead of merely making the takeover conceivable. A modification of the device is not implausible; technology has been mutilated beautifully over the course of history.

Trivialities aside, I assure you that this light-based, pseudo-mechanical core will be corrupted before you would assume. Having faith in the capabilities of this "hero team" is futile; optimism is highly blinding, after all. They're bound to cave eventually. One only has to watch and wait.

Now, allow me to ask you a question: are you a hero?

Rhetorical, of course. The answer is false.

"But I have the video games!" you mindlessly babble. "I've saved their world a lot of times!"

Riddle me this: whenever you play one of those droll 'sports' games, are you controlling the people in question? Are their real-life counterparts magically controlled by the hunk of plastic you hold in your sweaty little hands, living a life of hollow polygons and binary code?

Popular media and simple electronics may give you the illusion of great heroism, but I can tell you for a fact that it is merely that: popular media. A mass inflation of the status of entities otherwise irrelevant; a smear of reality and a reality of selective observation. It is in lieu of many of those 'sports games' and 'war games' that you fawn over so; you may see the people or the events, but in the end you are nothing more than a observer of replication.

Now, allow me to ask you a question: _are you a hero?_


End file.
